


Tabled Discussions

by winterkill



Series: Cop!Brienne AU [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Established Relationship, F/M, Smut, Table Sex, because of the porn, but i hope you'll forgive me, no Zootopia easter eggs this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: Jaime laughs into her hair, “I had a more specific reward in mind.”She chuckles and pushes back against him; it makes his own laugh die in his throat. “I can feel that you do.” Brienne glances away, “Why don’t you make a proposal, and we’ll see what your instructor says?”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Cop!Brienne AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715098
Comments: 72
Kudos: 188





	Tabled Discussions

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST CAN'T STOP WITH THIS UNIVERSE! My dash says it's table sex Tuesday, and damnit, I will deliver!
> 
> Thanks to Haicrescendo for the quick beta. She told me, and I quote, that the smut in this was "on a whole other level." She's more trustworthy on quality than I am, so I will believe her. I will admit that I went into some magical porn-writing fugue and banged this entire thing out in one sitting. When I re-read it, I thought "did I _really_ write this?"

Jaime’s the oldest rookie in the police academy. 

His classmates--Jaime hesitates to call them his peers because they average a decade-and-a-half younger than him--rib him for it _mercilessly._ The instructors are little better; some of _them_ are younger than him, too. Jaime grew accustomed to listening to people younger than him at community college, but no one there was _quite_ so derisive about it.

If might’ve stung his pride, once upon a time, but he’d been knocked down and risen with a better sense of who to listen to. Age meant little if the person was a fucking idiot. 

Jaime’s age garners _all_ sorts of nicknames. Old man. Mid-life Crisis. Gramps. Asha Greyjoy, one of only four women in his class, starts calling him _Daddy_ mockingly under her breath. He's _real_ fucking glad that one doesn’t gain traction.

Brienne hears these stories at the end of the day as they eat dinner. Sometimes, they sit across from one another at the table, and on lazier evenings, they eat on the couch with their plates on the coffee table.

“It’s hazing,” Brienne tells him, “You should’ve heard the nicknames they called me.”

“But you’re--” _Perfect._ That’s not true; Jaime thinks it, sometimes, but Brienne has flaws. “...A model police officer.”

“They’re not doing it because you’re going to be a bad cop. They’re doing it because you stand out.”

He slumps a bit into the couch cushion, “Because I’m _old.”_

“They called me Brienne the Beauty, and The Maid of Tarth because I was _certainly_ a virgin. I got called a cow a few times, too.” She drums her fingers against the arm of the couch like she’s dredging up more slights. “Hyle and some of his friends bet that they could get me to go on a date with them.”

 _“Cunt,”_ Jaime spits, “You dated him _after_ that?”

“He apologized,” Brienne waves her hands to disperse the topic. “And...maybe I was too caught up in the fact that _someone_ wanted me, even if it wasn’t what I deserved.”

Brienne knowing what she deserved might be the only gift Jaime’s given her. It’s an important one, and he’s proud. He’ll heap as much gratitude on her as she can take.

“I want to make it through,” he declares. 

“You gotta have thick skin. They’re trying to weed out the ones who won’t make it.”

Jaime’s a _little_ afraid he’ll be one of the ones that doesn’t, so he covers it with bravado. “I spent a decade plus at petty crime, Brienne. I’ve been called things that would make lesser men fall to their knees and _weep._ My skin is like the Valyrian steel of old.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, “I’m sure it is.”

That _should_ sound mocking, should rankle him like at the academy, but Brienne believes in him. She knows his weak points, and even though her tone is sarcastic, she _believes._ She leans over and kisses Jaime as sweetly as she’d been doing for the last two years. He wants her to kiss him like that in front of a judge, or _fuck_ , even a septon would do, and make her his wife. 

Jaime isn't quite sure he’s ready to ask that; he wants to prove himself by getting through the academy first. He wants Brienne to look at him, confident, and know she’s making a good choice.

“You get mushy at animal shelter commercials,” Brienne whispers a breath away from him, “but you don’t have to be hard to be a good cop.”

“I feel like I’m getting a different vibe from my instructors.”

“To make sure you can do the job,” she moves a little closer to rest her head against his. He shuts his eyes at the contact. “You have to be resilient, and to know how to process the things you’ll see, but compassion is _just_ as important.”

“You’re the most compassionate person I’ve ever met.”

Compliments make her blush; Jaime doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s there.

* * *

Everyone knows she’s dating Jaime.

Brienne wondered, as Jaime filled out his application for the police academy, if the association would help or hinder him. There was no way to keep it a secret-- _everyone_ at the precinct has met him, and they lived at the same address. She put Jaime’s name on her lease when it came up for renewal.

He hadn’t asked, but she wanted him to know it was his home, too, if he wanted it to be. He grinned the entire time and signed his name with a dramatic flourish.

They’d barely bolted the door after returning from the leasing office before Jaime was kneeling before her and pulling down her jeans. He’d lavished her with so much attention that she sank to the floor, completely out of breath.

“I love you,” he said, after, “and I love it here with you.”

So, _everyone_ knew.

Brienne was top of her graduating class and scored well on all her professional evaluations since becoming an officer. She was good at her job, and she knew it. She just hopes her association with Jaime doesn’t make things harder for him.

His hurdles resemble her own experience at the academy, and she’d never disrespect Jaime by calling in a favor to help him.

There _are_ things she can help with--she can quiz him on rules and procedures. They spend many evenings at the kitchen table going over flash cards. They can go to the gym together and exercise. Jaime was in good shape, before, but he’s even better now. She practices hand-to-hand combat and one of them _always_ ends up pinned to the mat.

Brienne sparred with many colleagues, but there’s _nothing_ quite like pinning a sweaty Jaime to the floor. It’s the cocky grin he gives when their eyes meet; the one that says _if we were alone right now._

Her apartment is better for studying from books, but by mid-afternoon, Jaime is resting his hand on his chin and zoning out. He yawns, and Brienne repeats her question three times and gets no response. They both prefer physical activity, so she rises from the chair and smacks her hand on the table.

Jaime startles and yelps, “What? Where’s the fire!?”

“You’re sleeping with your eyes open; let's do something else.”

The grin he gives her could best be described as _sleazy._ “What do you have in mind, Officer Tarth?”

She takes two steps to the middle of the room; the space isn’t big enough for much, but even a quarter hour of activity will break up the monotony.

“I’m coming at you with a knife.” She doesn’t want to give Jaime time to think about it. On the streets, there won’t be. “What do you do?”

“Try and talk you down.”

 _Avoid escalating if possible. Only use force as a last resort._ Jaime knows the steps; he’s just too slow.

“Already failed. I’m running at you.”

There’s only a few paces between them, but she lunges at Jaime. He catches her, but it’s off-balance. She has the advantage of strength, and he ends up in front of her, one arm locked around his neck, and his arms twisted behind his back. He tries to free his hands, but she has a stronger grip and the advantage of choking him out if he struggles.

“I could slit your throat,” she says cheerfully.

“Or choke me out,” he replies, just as chipper. “New kink I should know about?”

Frustrated with his gib attitude, Brienne shoves him away from her. “You _have_ to be fast, or you’ll be dead.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Brienne thinks for a second about the drills she knows. “No weapons. You need to bring me in, but I’m resisting arrest. How do you subdue me?”

“If I can get your hands behind your back, I can cuff you.”

 _“If._ Let’s see you try.”

She doesn’t want to throw it, but she’s also had _significantly_ more combat training than the average Flea Bottom thug. It won’t be realistic if she does her best. She throws a haphazard punch, which Jaime ducks and tries to get behind her. It’s a good call, but Brienne, faster, rounds on him and pins his arms a second time.

 _“Again?!”_ he squawks, so Brienne presses his face into the kitchen table for her trouble.

Jaime’s cheek is smushed to the page of his textbook on weapon and equipment stowing procedures. Hyle’s handcuffs are _still_ in her nightstand, written off as a loss by the department, so they might need to review _that_ one again. 

“Again,” Brienne repeats, “Pretend the table is the hood of your car.”

“Are you fond of smashing criminals against cop cars?”

Brienne shrugs, but Jaime can’t see much of it from his angle. “I like catching criminals.”

“Like me?” he teases.

“I _did_ want to slam you against _something_.”

“And look, you’ve been doing it ever since.”

* * *

In a few short months, Jaime will be forty. 

He feels it when he trains and when he sleeps at an odd angle and wakes up unable to turn his head ninety degrees to the right. He can’t drink like he used to, and some of the fast food he shoved in his mouth half his life ago makes him want to puke.

Age has also relieved him of the burden of bullshit pretense, so Jaime’s free as a bird to say that Brienne pushing him facedown onto her kitchen table makes him want to fuck her. 

Then again, he wants to fuck her at the gym, too, when they’re sweaty from running, and she comes at him with boxing gloves. She’ll knock him to the mat and hold him there while he struggles to free himself. Then, she’ll look down at him, hair dripping with sweat, and ask if he’s alright. The expression in her blue eyes is always soft concern, and Jaime loves her equally for her might _and_ her gentleness.

Brienne is _still_ holding his hands behind his back. Futilely, he tries to kick her and weakly hits her shin with the ball of his bare foot.

“Try _that_ with your instructors and see what happens.”

She tightens her hold, and it sends a lance of heat straight to his cock. _She’ll definitely notice if I grind against the table._ It would also be a _bit_ undignified. Then, she’s gone, and Jaime stands to face her. If Brienne notices the sizable bulge in his jeans, she doesn’t comment.

It takes three more attempts before _she’s_ the one with her face against his textbook. The page is crumbled a bit, and Jaime will laugh at that when he reviews the content. _A small victory._

“Ha!” he nearly yells, “I _knew_ I’d get you eventually.”

Brienne usually struggles because, in her own words, “people do when they’re restrained.” This time, she’s uncharacteristically still. “How do you know I didn’t let you?”

“Because you respect me, and you’re too honorable to let me think I’d won.”

“...You’re right.”

Not that being face down on a wooden table is comfortable, but there’s a tension in Brienne’s posture. Her breathing is a bit quickened, and she sure as hell isn’t winded from their activities. Jaime’s seen her run circles around him while he collapsed on the gym floor in a sweaty heap.

His brain veers away from tackling and grappling suspects to the fact that the woman he loves is in _such_ a position and doesn’t seem to mind. 

Without letting go of her hands, Jaime leans over the table and puts his lips close to her ear. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“...Only that you’re a pain in the ass.”

Jaime chuckles into Brienne's ear and delights that it makes her shiver. “Certainly, but that’s not what I’m referring to.”

“If you don’t let go of my hands, I’ll show you what _I’m_ referring to.”

Another chuckle, but this time Jaime builds on it by nipping at the shell of Brienne’s ear. She gasps, and it sounds charmingly irritated. “And I’m certain it would be _wonderful.”_ He lets her hands go and stands. "The lady is free."

Brienne pushes herself onto elbows and looks back at him. Her cheeks are flushed, but she’s all business when she says, “You’re getting better.”

“Positive reinforcement.” Since she’s looking at him, he gives her the cockiest grin he can muster. Jaime thinks it works pretty well given that his cock is hard enough to be used as a bludgeoning weapon, and he keeps staring at Brienne’s ass. “Have I earned a reward? A treat?”

Brienne raises both pale eyebrows, “A police badge sticker?”

The mention of Hyle Cunt doesn’t do what it did a year ago, but he knows what Brienne _wants_ it to do. _She’s winding me up._ He’s a damned easy target, too. Jaime drapes himself over her back, using his full weight. Even with his newly acquired muscle mass, Brienne doesn’t budge. It’s little relief, but he grinds his cock against her ass, just so she _knows._

Jaime laughs into her hair, “I had a more _specific_ reward in mind.”

She chuckles and pushes back against him; it makes his own laugh die in his throat. “I can feel that you do.” Brienne glances away, “Why don’t you make a proposal, and we’ll see what your instructor says?”

Words games are not her favorite, but _seven hells_ , everything Brienne says seduces him. Even this silly, informal roleplay crashes through him like thunder.

“I want to fuck you.” Jaime manages to keep the desperate tone out of his voice; he has the upper hand, and it never lasts long. _“Just_ like you are.”

Brienne blanches a bit, “Jaime, we _eat_ here.”

“We sleep in the bed and bathe in the shower, yet we fuck there, too. What’s the difference?”

“I--nothing, I suppose.”

“See?” Jaime moves against her rather lewdly, and Brienne buries her face in her hands laughing. “We’ll have a great time.”

_“Fine.”_

“Have I _ever_ led you astray, Officer Tarth?”

“I can think of a _few_ times.”

“Yeah, but it’s _always_ a good time.”

* * *

Jaime tugs down her workout leggings and her underwear, and for what seems like an indeterminate amount of time, he just _looks_ at her. Brienne knows she’s wet, and knows that Jaime knows it, too. She squirms a bit to create some friction, but it’s pretty useless and serves mostly to frustrate her. A low simmer that she can’t escalate. 

The leggings are barely past her ass, which leaves her a _bit_ trapped. She could stand up and strip them off, but she doesn’t. Jaime is always _so_ good for her--he’s still if she asks and seems to revel in that until the moment when she turns him loose.

It doesn’t mean Brienne can’t be terse about it.

“Are you planning on touching me?”

“I _am,”_ Jaime replies, “in my own time.”

Brienne turns her head to find him standing behind her, cock out of his jeans and stroking himself.

 _“That’s_ what you’ve been doing?”

“Yep.”

_“Why?”_

“I wish you could see your cunt right now.” Jaime sighs like he’s talking about pretty spring flowers and gives his cock another stroke. “You’re _sopping,_ and every little squirm makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

If she can line up the edge of the table, _maybe_ she can rub against it just right and--

It works, _sort of_.

“I know where you sleep,” she says to Jaime, _“and_ how to torment you.”

Jaime comes to her, close enough that she can’t get a good view of him. He drops a kiss onto the crown of her head and cups her ass, sinking his fingers into the flesh.

“I held back on touching you,” he whispers into her ear, “Even with you dripping like that right in front of my eyes. I’m getting better at pacing myself.”

He moves his hand closer, but not close enough, tracing a fingertrip around Brienne’s outer folds. Each pass gets a bit closer, teasing and never quite landing. Her cunt is slick enough that Jaime’s fingers slide easily across her sensitive skin. Shamelessly, Brienne pushes back against his fingers seeking relief. Jaime runs two fingers over her entrance without pushing forward and rubs his thumb _just_ shy of her clit.

“I-if you don’t put _something_ in me this instant--”

“Like this?”

In tandem with his words, Jaime slides two fingers into her and curls them in a way that has Brienne gripping the far edge of the table. She lets out a noise loud enough that her neighbors _certainly_ hear when Jaime pumps his fingers in and out of her cunt.

“Like that,” he answers his own question.

_So smug and so wonderful._

When he adds a third finger, Brienne surrenders any pretense of composure and rests her forehead on the table. There’s still a sliver of reticence left in her--that Jaime will mock her for reacting too loudly, or he’ll suddenly look at her, bared on the table, and find her wanting. The moment doesn’t come, and it never has.

Jaime stops before Brienne comes, but she’s _just_ close enough that everything is on fire with the anticipation of it. She pushes herself up and looks behind her to find Jaime stroking himself again, this time coating his cock with her wetness. He doesn’t say anything, but the smile he gives her is so filled with affection that Brienne’s heart races from the sheer romance of it.

_If getting fucked from behind on a kitchen table is romantic._

It _is_ , though, because Jaime is gentle as he peels her leggings the rest of the way down, cupping her bare hip with his hand and leaving lingering touches. When the clothes reach her feet, Brienne kicks them away. 

Jaime stands behind her bracketing her hips with his hands, “You good?”

“Do your worst.”

* * *

Jaime often goaded Brienne to do _her_ worst--usually when she had him handcuffed to a bed, or sometimes a chair, or that one time where he convinced her to have sex in the backyard of her girlhood home on Tarth while visiting her father. 

Brienne’s worst is gentle and maddening and _thorough;_ Jaime isn’t sure he’s up to the challenge of turning that on her. He made her wait, though, and managed to make himself wait, too. Jaime _likes_ waiting, but someone else usually has to be the master of the clock.

In one smooth motion, Jaime sinks into her, hands gripping her hips. Brienne has her head turned as best she can to watch him. Her brow is furrowed in concentration until he cants his hips forward the last fraction of distance, then her eyes flutter shut and her lips part.

 _She’s beautiful like this, and no one who saw her would say differently._ No one else will _ever_ see her like this, not as long as Brienne will have him. That blissful, unguarded expression is earned and his alone.

“I wish you could see yourself.” He pushes into her again, as deep as she can take him, and Brienne gives a shudder that echoes through her entire body. “I should film you, just so you know how you look taking my cock. You look _happy.”_

“I won’t be happy if you film me,” Brienne gasps, stubborn. Her grip on the far edge of the table is white-knuckled. “Unless you want the comeuppance of leaked footage of you tied to a chair.”

Jaime grins, “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” she agrees.

“It would lose something, anyway, like when you try and film fireworks.”

Brienne pillows her arms on the table and laughs. Jaime could drink in the sight of that until the end of his days. The pace isn’t enough for him, and Jame _knows_ it isn’t enough for Brienne, so he finds a rhythm, fucking her deeper and harder until Brienne cries out at the end of every thrust. 

Jaime leans over her, wanting to feel as much of Brienne as possible. He presses kisses into her hair and whispers what he wants from her. _Louder_ and _don’t hold back._ The angle is deep, and Brienne gets loud if Jaime’s good enough to make her forget herself. Brienne’s feet slide on the floor for purchase, and when she shifts her grip, Jaime threads their fingers together and holds the table with her. He babbles more things--tells her she’s wonderful and that he loves her.

The position is intimate, but he hasn’t kissed her yet, which is a crime given how much time he spends staring at her lips. Brienne bites them when she’s pondering something, and every time her tongue flicks between them, Jaime wants to feel them against his own.

“Turn around,” he gasps into her ear, “I want to look you in the eyes while I fuck you.”

Brienne gasps her consent, and Jaime retreats from her. While she turns around, Jaime tugs his shirt off and pulls his jeans down. He’s entirely too clothed to be fucking someone. Brienne has the same idea. Sitting at the edge of the table, she pulls her tank top off. Her nipples poke through her sports bra. Jaime swipes his fingers over one before helping Brienne cast the fabric aside.

When Jaime’s buried in her again, Brienne wraps her legs around him and holds them together. He puts his hands on her hips, tilting her forward for a better angle. It makes her moan, which Jaime swallows, pressing his lips to hers and coaxing her open by sliding his tongue against hers. Brienne returns the kiss like she’s claiming him, a feeling he matches by taking her with slow, deep strokes.

They’re getting there, but it’ll be a scenic route.

When Brienne needs to breathe, she reaches up and tenderly cups his cheek, “Is this better?”

 _What am I waiting for?_ Jaime knows he wants to be with her; he’s known it since the first time she held him on that awful, scratchy couch in the safehouse. He knows it every time she graces him with a rare smile, and every time they’re as close as two people can be.

“Brienne, there’s nothing better.”

* * *

The table makes a _terrible_ bed.

Jaime’s typically theatrical reaction to coming leaves him in a limp pile on top of her. She’s breathless from her own climax, but she recovers _much_ faster. The wooden table digs into her shoulder blades, and her skin where they touch is clammy with sweat. Brienne pats Jaime on the back to stir him.

“I thought you were in good shape,” she teases.

“I _am._ Excuse me for being a little winded after expending my life force.”

“We need to move.” Brienne tries to jostle Jaime so she can sit up; it’s not easy when he’s dead weight. “This is killing my back.”

It must be the desire to nettle her that rouses Jaime because within a few seconds he’s pulling himself upright and holding out his hand. “I thought _you_ were young and indestructible.”

“I’ve _never_ said that.”

Jaime unceremoniously grabs a handful of takeout napkins for clean up; Brienne raises an eyebrow but takes them because, once again, there’s no damned tissues nearby. She reaches for her discarded clothes, but Jaime grabs her wrist. 

“You don’t need those where we’re going.”

She eyes him skeptically, “The...couch?”

Jaime takes her hand, “I want to talk to you about something, but don’t run.”

“...I’m naked in my own home. Where would I go?”

“Good point,” he concedes, “Nevertheless.”

Brienne is _really_ glad the blinds are closed as they parade nude across her apartment on a Saturday afternoon. They sit side-by-side on the couch. Brienne resists the urge to run back for her clothes or maybe the throw that’s on the armchair. Jaime could have _any_ conversation naked as his nameday; Brienne’s just not that confident.

He hasn’t spoken, so Brienne glances at him and waits.

Jaime holds up two fingers, “Two things.”

“Okay.”

“I thought I should wait until _after_ the academy to ask this, but I can hear your voice in my head telling me I’m good enough as I am for the things I want.”

“You are.”

“Brienne, there’s a _before_ you, and an _after_ you. I think you know the _after_ is infinitely better, and something I’d like to keep.”

She leans over and kisses him briefly; it’s easier than words. “Me too.”

Jaime smiles; Brienne wants nothing more than to shield him from anything that would deny him that expression. “If you think I’m worthy, I’d like to marry you.”

Even as a girl, Brienne never imagined a romantic declaration. As she grew, she didn’t really imagine anything at all. It was easier to focus on what she could accomplish alone. Jaime says it like it’s everyday, the next logical step in the trajectory of _them,_ and Brienne doesn’t need more than that.

“I’ve been thinking that for a while, too.”

Then, Jaime’s kissing her again and pulling her with him down onto the couch. It’s a long, long span of time before Brienne surfaces and remembers Jaime holding up two fingers.

“What’s the other thing?”

He looks charmingly dazed, “The other…?”

“You held up two fingers.” She does it herself to jog his memory. “If the first is a wedding, what’s the second?”

 _“Oh.”_ His grin is _all_ predator; it makes Brienne’s stomach drop in the best way. “I wanna trade places with you sometime, have _you_ bend _me_ over the table. I mean, we’d need--”

Brienne _absolutely_ doesn’t let him finish that sentence.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess I'm writing another installment...
> 
> 🤷🤷🤷


End file.
